Silent Pain
by truthseeker97
Summary: Grimm oneshot! Rosalee has always struggled to cope- the only thing that ever gave her relief was cutting up her own skin. But even when things are supposed to be better- with her boyfriend Monroe- she finds herself unable to tell him her darkest secret. And their whole relationship is put on the line, when she lies to cover up the cuts on her skin. Contains self harm.


**Author's note- I've recently gotten really into Grimm, and I'm not too sure why I wanted to write this story but considering I already write self harm fics for all my other fandom's, I guess it just kind of happened. Besides I haven't seen any fics like this for the Grimm fandom so I thought I might as well do one. I'm not sure how this will turn out but please, read and review!**

**Trigger warning for self harm. I do not promote self harm in any way, shape or form.**

**Disclaimer- Nothing is mine.**

Silent Pain

If it was one thing her life wasn't, it would sure be that her life wasn't exactly easy. Everyone has their ups and downs, and everyone copes in their own way, but she had always felt alone in whatever turmoil and pain she felt. For starters, her father died. And the death of someone- especially a parent- is enough to struggle with for a very long time. Rosalee didn't know how to cope. She moved away from her mother and sister and made things worse for herself by seeking relief through drugs. Of course, her mum and sister hadn't spoken to her since she missed her dad's funeral. The fact that she had missed his funeral cut her deep, but being ignored by her other family was the striking blow. The fuchsbau never knew how to cope.

And she was still unable to cope after all those years.

It was shortly after her father's funeral that she first looked at her razor in a new way. With no-one to turn to, no-one who she felt she could share her darkest secrets with, she found that it was best to keep her pain silent- hidden. For almost an hour she just stared at the razor. A staring match. Trying to hold out and keep her will to fight going. The shiny, silver metal glinted at her tantalisingly from its secure place inside the plastic of the razor. It taunted her. But she wasn't strong enough to even think about resisting.

It was strange. Rosalee had never even considered cutting her own skin would offer any sort of relief. Of course she had heard about it many times; especially cases of teenagers struggling under the ridiculous pressures of adolescence. She knew from research that it was a coping mechanism, but it had seemed stupid before. But drugs had seemed stupid before as well. Rosalee had lost it eventually. She had grabbed the razor in hands that she didn't realise were even shaking and threw it to the floor of her bathroom. Standing up, taking deep breaths, the fuchsbau had stomped hard on the razor. It cracked slightly. Feeling desperation start to kick in, she had stomped on it again with force. The safe, plastic casing split with a satisfying crack. Fighting back tears that threatened to overwhelm her, Rosalee picked up the free blade, feeling it's coldness underneath her fingertips. She remembered that day all too well. Her hands had stopped shaking as she pressed the blade to her left forearm. She'd taken a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she dragged the blade swiftly across her arm in a single, small, straight line. Rosalee hissed very slightly. She opened her eyes as a shot of adrenaline coursed through her veins. She felt something... she felt... relief. Several small beads of scarlet blood bubbled to the surface; there was a pause before they trailed slowly down her arm. With fascination, the young woman just watched. She had grabbed a white tissue and applied a little bit of pressure which stopped the bleeding fairly quickly. Truthfully, she hadn't expected it to feel that good. Feeling a slight thrill, she put the blade to her arm again and made three new cuts in quick succession. It offered the same sensation of relief. She could carry on again.

But she never thought it would get so bad. It had quickly- practically overnight- become her perfect coping mechanism. It was what she turned to whenever she couldn't cope. At first, it had just been a couple of times a week. But over the years it worsened. It got to a point when she was doing it every single day. She felt disgusted with herself. Scars soon littered her arms, some silvery-white, while deeper ones were still slightly pink. Rosalee had tried to restrict it just to her arms, but occasionally she had cut her thighs. The cuts were getting deeper- no longer just scratches. But she hadn't the strength to stop.

Eventually she had stopped taking drugs. It had been hard, and she almost relapsed so many times, but she could live without the drugs. She couldn't live without the self harm- the cutting. It was the one thing that kept her going most days. If that was taken away... she wasn't sure what would happen- and she was too scared to find out.

It didn't help much either when her brother died. It felt like her world was collapsing around her again. Night after night she spent just her and her trusty blades. There came a point, when she first found out about her brother's death that she wanted to stop- to throw away the blades and never look back. But she could never bring herself to do that. She had no support to be able to do that.

Rosalee sighed heavily as she stared at her oldest blade. Remembering the past years, feeling regret and sadness. And she felt awful. For goodness sake her life was pretty much perfect! She had found her soul mate in the form of the loveable blutbad Monroe. He was so kind-hearted, caring, compassionate and sweet in every way possible, and she knew she didn't deserve him. Despite the fact that they were now living together, he still hadn't seen her naked. Rosalee did her utmost to ensure she didn't give away her deepest, darkest secret. She would wear long sleeves both day and night and she never let things get too heated between Monroe and her. The fuchsbau hated herself for it, the confusion in his eyes whenever she refused to be just a little more intimate with him. Her excuses was that she wasn't ready and that she didn't want to rush- and bless him- Monroe accepted this and was content to wait for whenever she was ready. But Rosalee knew that she couldn't prolong it forever. She wanted to be intimate with him, she wanted to be closer to him and give him everything she could give... but the fuchsbau was terrified that he wouldn't love her when he saw her body- her scars and cuts. Admittedly, she had reduced her cutting a great deal and she was proud of herself for this- but it was an addiction and it still happened frequently. But she couldn't hide it forever. It was like a war in her mind. No-one knew she cut. And she was certain she wouldn't be accepted and loved no matter what if anyone found out. Who could love a girl with scars like hers?

Monroe would be sure to ask questions soon. Surely he was confused as to why he had never seen her without long sleeves. Rosalee brushed a stray tear away from her eye as she continued to stare at her blades. She picked one of the newer ones up; Monroe was out with Nick so she wouldn't be disturbed. With unsteady hands, she brought the blade right to her left wrist, dragging it across the marked skin. She felt better- but the relief was only temporary.

Several weeks later, Rosalee was helping Monroe prepare dinner for that night. They were silent- not an unusual thing but it was a heavy silence, and even slightly uncomfortable. Glancing at the man she loved she could practically see the cogs turning in his head so to speak. Monroe was frowning, seemingly debating something in his mind. There was another minute of silence. The blutbad stopped what he was doing and washed his hands, glancing fleetingly at Rosalee with a worried and sad expression. He leaned against the counter, watching as she washed her own hands. Suddenly he took a deep breath and asked:

"Do you love me?" His expression was forlorn and worried although he fought to keep it neutral. Rosalee stared back at him in shock at his question.

"Of course I love you, why would you think otherwise?" The fuchsbau said confused.

"Oh god I'm sorry," Monroe looked apologetic and unsure of himself, "It's just... maybe I'm being a little paranoid..." He took another breath, "It's just that, I feel as though you don't want to be with me- in other ways. Every time I try to take it just a little bit further, you stop me. And I'm happy to wait- I really am- it's just... I wondered if it was because of me." He looked at the ground before meeting her sad gaze. If only he knew, she thought. But Rosalee felt horrible, she was making the one she loved feel bad because she had made a mess of her body and herself. She didn't deserve him.

"Of course it isn't you, not at all. It's just... me." Rosalee sighed.

"We don't have to take it far at all. You know, maybe just get to second base to get comfortable with each other?" Monroe seemed a little awkward talking about these things. "It's not that I'm unhappy with how we are now, it's just that... oh god- I guess I just want to show you how much I love you..." He sighed, "If you don't want to be with me, then just say or something."

Rosalee felt the tell tale stinging in her eyes and she had to use all of her will to fight back tears. She opened her mouth, but she didn't know what to say. It was all her fault, she was the reason he felt bad for bringing this up. She was the reason he thought it was his fault she couldn't be with him like that. What sort of person was she? A traitor tear fell down her cheek. Monroe looked ashamed of himself- thinking he was the reason she was crying. He stepped forward, saying her name in a soft tone.

"Rosalee, I'm sorry, it's unfair of me to say that..." He held his arms out to her.

"No, just no," she couldn't keep it in anymore, the tears were flowing. Batting his arms away and seeing his face fall, she ran. Her heart wrenching as she heard Monroe call her name out in a mixture of confusion and sadness.

Being a fuchsbau meant that she could run reasonably fast, so Rosalee raced into the depths of the forest outside Monroe's house. She stopped; she heard no signs of pursuit. With a choked sob, the young woman sank to the ground. Reaching into her pocket, she found a blade that she always kept with her in case things ever became too much and she wasn't at home. Turning it around in her hand, the metal blade reflected the light that escaped into the forest through the thick branches and leaves of the trees around her. Rolling up the sleeves on her arm, she pressed the blade against her scarred skin. Over and over again she cut into her own flesh, desperately trying to find the relief she craved. Her hands were shaking too much and so much blood was dripping down onto the forest floor. Rosalee stopped, putting the blade back roughly into her pocket. Keeping her left arm raised, she used her right arm to search in her other pocket, looking for any tissues. There was only one. Carefully, she cleaned up the cuts a bit, but they just kept bleeding. Three of them were a bit too deep and would need to have butterfly strips and a bandage on them to hold it together and prevent even more bleeding- the others weren't too bad. She couldn't move. She felt numb and exhausted. And she still felt rubbish.

She must have been sitting there for over an hour- the cuts had stopped bleeding and she was lucky she didn't feel dizzy. The fuchsbau felt like crying, but she had no tears left to give. Why did she have to mess up one of the best things in her life? Suddenly, she tensed. She scented the air. Her sense of smell wasn't as good as a blutbad's but she still had a pretty decent sense of smell.

Monroe.

She could smell him approaching.

Feeling panicked, she stood up, and paused for a moment before moving away from the place she had cut. But she stopped. Rapid footfalls were coming towards her. Sitting back down on the ground, she fought to keep her breathing normal. The footsteps slowed as they approached her.

"Rosalee..." Monroe said her name quietly as he stood next to where she was sitting. He sat down opposite her and took her hands into his. Forcing herself to look at him, she felt awful as she could see the pure worry in his eyes. "I'm so sorry, if I said anything to make you run off." He apologised softly.

"It wasn't you." She shook her head, trying to give him a smile- which he returned.

There was a moment's silence. The blutbad suddenly frowned and sniffed the air. He looked at her with concern in his kind eyes.

"Why can I smell blood?" He queried. Rosalee froze. She said nothing, unable to speak so he asked: "Are you hurt?"

"No!" She said far too quickly. "No, no, I'm fine, really." She smiled. But in her panicked state she ended up unintentionally woging for a few seconds, before attempting to calm herself and morphing back. Monroe was looking at her, seeing right through her and knowing something was wrong.

"If you're hurt, I can help you." He said, "Let me see." He moved to grab her left arm- but she gasped and pulled away from him. Quickly standing up, she told him:

"Honestly, there's nothing wrong," she smiled, "Let's get back, it's getting late." Monroe nodded and stood up, following behind her as they walked back to the house in silence.

Monroe was worried. He could smell the familiar scent of fresh blood. Rosalee smelled of blood in fact. The blutbad knew she wasn't telling the truth, but he couldn't figure out why she would hide it from him either. Truthfully, he was still worried it was something he was doing wrong- despite the fact that she told him it wasn't. Maybe he was rushing things, and going a bit too fast. He just loved her so much; he wanted to show her how much he loved her. If he had to wait until she was ready then he was more than okay with that- anything to make his Rosalee happy. But she wasn't happy. She didn't seem happy. And he was worried about her.

Rosalee on the other hand, was terrified. She hated keeping things from Monroe. She told him almost everything. The only thing she had never even mentioned was the self harm. And she hated how she had to lie to him because she was too scared of his rejection. He knew something was wrong. She couldn't look at him as she entered their house, he tried to catch her eye but she refused to meet his gaze. Rosalee went into the kitchen, sitting down and sighing heavily.

"Rosalee," Monroe started, "Don't shut me out. You don't have to hide anything from me. You can tell me anything remember?" His voice was soft as he brought a chair up to sit next to her around the table. "If there's something troubling you, don't be afraid to say. I'm not here to judge you. I'll love you no matter what." Rosalee felt another tear snake its way down her cheek.

"You won't love me if you knew everything." She shook her head.

"Of course I will," he took her hand again. "I'm just worried about you. I can smell blood on you- you're hurt and I just want to help."

Rosalee was at war with herself. She wanted to tell him so badly, to get the weight off her chest and be able to love him in every way possible- with no secrets. But she was scared- frightened at how he would react. He may reject her- kick her out of the house, yell at her. She didn't know how she could win. Monroe brought her back to the present by resting a hand on her left arm, she flinched.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me," he said again. Rosalee was quiet, she saw him sniff the air again- confirming the scent of fresh blood was still a little strong around her. With a tentative touch, he took hold of her left sleeve.

"No!" Rosalee almost shouted- he looked surprised. "You really don't want to do that." She told him in a whisper.

"You're hurt." He said simply.

"Fine," the fuchsbau said- knowing that it would end this way anyway and that it was best to be rejected earlier on. "But you may not love me when you finish." He gave her a look- that practically said 'I could never not love you' and gave her a reassuring smile.

Not knowing what he was about to find, he slowly and carefully pulled her left sleeve up to the elbow. Monroe gasped slightly, his eyes wide. He stilled his hand and stared. Her left arm revealed the hundreds of silver-white scars that littered her skin. And he looked at the fresh cuts, they'd only recently stopped bleeding but they looked sore and angry and red and deep. Monroe didn't know what to say. Out of everything, he hadn't expected this. He finally realised why she didn't want to get more intimate. This explained why what he said earlier made her feel guilty; it explained why she always wore long sleeves and never let anything go further than just heated kissing. Without a word he pulled up the sleeve of her right arm. There weren't any fresh cuts, but there were still a lot of scars and some scabs. He looked at her arms, knowing she must have been in a lot of pain to do this to herself, and he felt sad that she felt unable to tell him her darkest secret. Monroe looked up at her, he was shocked, but upon seeing her tear streaked face he managed a smile.

"If you don't want to be with me then just say it now. I completely understand," Rosalee said shakily. He shook his head.

"This doesn't make me love you any less okay," his voice was soft and quiet, "It doesn't make you any less beautiful. I'm just... shocked." He took a breath, "I'm sad you didn't feel able to tell me this Rosalee and I'm sad that you were in so much pain." He looked at her, "I'm here now though. I want to be able to help in any way. You don't have to hide from me anymore okay?" She nodded through her tears. Monroe leaned forward, his forehead touching hers. And with such softness, he kissed her tenderly. Their lips moved in sync and it struck pleasure through their bodies. He pulled back and stood up, rummaging around in the cupboards in the kitchen. He grabbed the first aid kit and brought it back to the table.

Rosalee watched in wonder as he fixed her wounds with the butterfly strips and bandages. She hadn't expected this. Of all the scenarios in her head, this one was the least likely. She felt a bubble of happiness. It was like a weight had been lifted from her, she felt free again. And... She felt happy. Truly happy. They sat in silence as he finished looking after her freshest cuts.

"You know, I have wanted to stop." She told him quietly in a murmur, "I just couldn't. It's like I'm addicted- as stupid as it sounds. I can't cope any other way..."

"You don't have to stop for me." Monroe said.

"Most people would force a self harmer to stop." Rosalee said confused.

"And what good would that do?" Monroe asked. "I don't know much about this but I know that taking away the one thing that has kept someone going for so long isn't going to help- it would just make them worse. If you want to stop, then I'll do everything I can to help you. Either way, I'm always here." He finished bandaging her left arm and smiled at her.

"Thank you," She said, feeling overwhelmed. "And I'm sorry, for making you feel like it was your fault and for not being able to give you what you want because I was too scared to tell you."

"There's no need to apologise." He smiled. He brought her right arm up to his lips, kissing the scars that were now a part of the woman he would always love.

That night he worshipped her. Showed her how much he loved her and how he would always love her no matter what. He kissed her scars, his kissed every expanse of her body, and he sealed his love to her with a righteous kiss to her plump lips.

Rosalee was lucky. Hell she knew that right from the moment she met Monroe. But to have someone that would truly care about her no matter what was a blessing. Her 'family' may not want anything to do with her, but that didn't matter anymore.

She carried on cutting when she needed to for the following year, gradually reducing it every month that passed. The next year, she walked with Monroe to the bridge by the river. In her hands she held a box. And in that box contained the things that had kept her going for years of her life. And those years of her life were tough. With the tools in the box, there were also many bad memories contained. Memories, which were best left in the past.

"Ready?" Monroe asked her gently. Rosalee stared down at the box, feeling a strange feeling that she couldn't quite place. Looking up at her husband-to-be, she smiled brightly.

"Ready." She took his hand and placed it on the box.

Together, they threw it into the river.

Something Rosalee never thought she would ever be able to do.

They watched with smiles as the box floated for a second, before sinking slowly. With it, all the pain of the past and all the blades she took to her body, gone, washed away to the bottom of the river.

Monroe turned to look at his gorgeous fiancée. Taking her face gently into his hands, he gazed into her eyes, before leaning down to catch her lips in a kiss.

It had been a struggle. The months since he found out hadn't been easy. She had tried to stop and relapsed badly, losing heart and breaking down. But she fought. The scars on her body were battle scars.

Rosalee smiled up at him, before taking his hand in hers and walking away- back to their home where she could start a new chapter of her life.


End file.
